Grieving
by in the black
Summary: Jin teaches Mugen how to let go.


**A/N: Forgive me.**

the process of diminishing and rebuilding,

the man it will ultimately break

**i.**

On the fourth day, Mugen decides to go to the ocean. He misses the surf and arrives there at the apex of the evening when the sky is a bleeding mess of cosmic gore, a gauche painting of harsh reds and yellows that makes him extremely uncomfortable. He opts to stare at the undulating tide instead, a dance of crash-and-pull that is almost hypnotic in nature. He sits with legs stretched out on the white sand, letting the grains filter through his fingers, and remembers abruptly that Jin doesn't like the beach. He hates getting dirty—sand is synonymous with dirt to him—and he can't stand the sour smell of the sea, a perfume Mugen doesn't even notice anymore.

"I know you don't like it here," Mugen says out loud, leaning back on his palms and staring at his toes, peppered white and brown. "But I just need a moment, alright?"

He imagines Jin nodding. He always was considerate.

**ii.**

Jin loves persimmons and Mugen hates them, but one day he lets Jin convince him, pictures the small smile of victory that would appear on his face because Mugen acquiesces.

He liked it when Mugen was obedient.

So there he sits, leaning against the bark of a wild persimmon tree, surrounded by the dark orange fruit. Jin selects the best one with a discerning eye the way Mugen imagines he would, and he turns the chosen produce over and over again in his palms suspiciously.

"It's not poisonous, love," Mugen remembers Jin saying once, and he sinks his teeth into the yielding, slightly bitter meat—skin and all—and lets his mouth flood with a taste that is nowhere near sweet enough for his liking. His face twists in disapproval but he eats the whole thing anyway, trying to ignore the laughter he hears in his head. It is bell-like and as light as feathers, not derogatory.

"Man, I was right, I really do hate these things," Mugen winces, and Jin's laughter dwindles into a soft chuckle.

"Your loss," he says in return and is silent after.

Mugen takes the seeds of the consumed fruit, finds a clearing full of sun and soil, and plants them.

**iii.**

Mugen is not used to carrying two swords. It's odd, akin to having an extra arm, and the wazikashi is too big to replace his long-lost, ace-in-the-hole tanto. "I only need one, Jin," Mugen frowns contemplatively, unsure how to fasten the shorter blade to his sheath. He is sure he has never seen a wazikashi carried on one's back, and he wishes Jin's hands would descend knowingly to guide his as they did long ago, but Jin leaves him alone to figure this out for himself for once.

"Then don't carry it," Jin gently reminds him, the sweet chime of his voice wafting from the back of Mugen's head, and he frowns even harder, brow creasing.

"No way. I'm not leavin' any part of you behind."

"There's nothing of me that can be left behind, Mugen," comes the returning murmur, transparent and ephemeral. "All of me already resides in you."

Mugen could cry at that and fears for a second that he will. He laughs instead to fill the sudden hollow feeling that turns his heart cold. It's a thin noise of mourning.

"You're such a bad poet," he mutters, running the tips of four fingers over the wazikashi's worn hilt, wishing it was warm from Jin's hand. He wishes _he _is warm but knows that sun has long since set on him.

The next day Mugen buries both swords in a grave he digs with his bare hands, fighting the sting all the while. Somewhere else, Jin watches him, proud.

**iv.**

Mugen comes across a modest town one day and installs himself in the local restaurant, wallet heavy with plunder he liberated from the cadavers of bandits who were too foolishly daring for their own good. He is liberal with his resources but does not eat—_cannot _eat, not yet, not alone—and fills himself with plum wine instead.

(Jin reminds him he cannot drink but Mugen asks for two cups anyway, in case he changes his mind.)

After a while his sight is blurred and swimming, but he sees the young woman sidle close to him anyway. She is intensely beautiful but he has seen beauty greater than hers, a beauty the world had once and will never have again. He cannot appreciate her.

"Hey," she coos in his ear, breath warm and comforting. He steels instinctively. "Why's a handsome man like you drinking alone?"

He wants to vomit, to hit something, to destroy, but he feels Jin in his heart and he is a weighty presence that stills his wrath. That man's patience is corrupting him.

"I'm not alone," Mugen ekes out through gritted teeth, knocking back another cupful, and if the woman notices his discomfort she does nothing to ease it.

"But I don't see anyone here, sugar," she chirps, a hand beginning to stroke his arm, running from bicep to the crook of his elbow. Mugen shuts his eyes in exasperation, tries not to bristle at the contact, and prays that Jin would say _something _to help him, but he is strangely absent.

"I said I'm not alone. Don't touch me."

"Aw, but darling, _I _am. I'd love it if you kept me company tonight. I'm awfully lonely, you know."

"I don't care. Beat it and _don't touch me_."

She bites her lip as if hurt, but her hand is still stroking his arm in blatant disobedience and Mugen wonders bitterly when women became so stubborn. He remembers that even Fuu would obey him if he showed enough anger, and she was the very definition of hard-headed.

"Don't be mean, honey," she tries again, then her fingers land on the blue beads on his wrist to tug at the precious orbs lightly. Something in him snaps, something feral and hurting, and suddenly she is on the floor, eyes wide and fearful, and he is seeing red.

"Don't you _dare _touch me!" he roars and everything around him freezes. It is not guilt or shame that propels him out of the restaurant, the thunder of his footsteps steady and rapid despite his inebriation. He knows it's something far worse than either of those things, something blacker and deeper and refusing to be cured. Later, when he is propped up against a fence with his head in his hands, he realizes darkly that it is grief.

**v.**

He visits Fuu one day and she does not ask, not even when she notices the blue beads that didn't belong to him once. She is pregnant, married, and happy and Mugen is powerfully glad that at least one of the three found joy. She welcomes him with all the sunshine in her being and he briefly forgets the black that has settled inside of him. It is only when the night has descended and Fuu requests privacy with her brother that everything lurches out of him like a dreadful flood, everything pained and damaged and yearning. He fights fiercely against the sobs that threaten to rip him apart and she tries to sew him together in the nest of her arms, but she knows she is no supplement for what Mugen has lost. What _they _have lost.

She begs Jin to come and help her—to help _him_—but even she knows that this is necessary, that even men of strength like the one torn asunder in her embrace must learn destruction in its cruelest form.

Fuu holds him until his sobs dissolve into quiet sleep, and does not let go even long after that.

It is only in his slumber that she allows herself to succumb too.

**vi.**

It is spring time and all around him the land is choked with blossoms and life. Mugen folds his arms over the rail of a bridge and surveys the placid surface of the canal. The morning is quiet and young, and the sky above him is just barely awake with the colors of a new day, and cicadas are just beginning their symphonies.

He does not turn to look at him but Mugen knows Jin is there, as he always was and will be.

"It's a good morning, ain't it?" Mugen comments, watching the dart of small silver fish in the flesh of the water.

"Spectacular, actually."

"This the morning you want?"

"Only if you're ready for it, of course."

"I guess I am."

"You must know for sure, Mugen, lest you be full of regret for the rest of your life."

His brow creases, and he peers at the horizon, the soft head of the sun beginning to emerge from the blue mouth of the ocean. Jin is quiet beside him.

"No, I am. I'm good."

He feels more than sees Jin smile. "Then, I suppose you are."

Mugen exhales and, without looking, plucks the bracelet from his right wrist. He cradles it in one palm over the canal, watching the newborn rays catch on the stones, painting them to shine and glisten. He waits for a moment longer then without a single word lets them go, lets them sink and rest in a place Mugen cannot go just yet.

Jin sighs pleasantly.

"Thank you, Mugen."

"Don't. Y' won't be alone for long, I promise it."

"I'll wait until then."

"You better."

Jin goes quiet again, for the last time, and Mugen lets the morning bloom in its fullest, lets it wash him. He stays for a little while, then leaves.


End file.
